


heat haze

by deplore



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: Oikawa and Ushijima go to a summer festival together.
  “It isn’t yet the peak time of the season for humidity,” Ushijima says. “The weather is still bearable.”
  Oikawa makes a point of grimacing visibly for a moment before he replies, “Your opinion on the matter doesn’t mean much. As far as I’m concerned, you’re pretty much an UMA. Or maybe an UMU?”
  “What is an ooh-moo?” Ushijima asks.
  “An unidentified mysterious Ushiwaka, of course,” Oikawa answers snappily.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astronomically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomically/gifts).



> Please assume that for whatever reason, these two are already dating :'^)

The scene is almost picture-perfect for a summer festival: the streets are lit up with stalls selling foods and trinkets, or game booths with prizes, bathing the festival-goers in a warm, orange-reddish light as the sun slowly sinks beneath the horizon. Cicadas cry out, just loud enough to be charmingly pastoral but softly enough that it isn’t quite annoying. A few puffy cumulus clouds drift across the sky, but the quarter-moon shines with a muted glow as the stars twinkle. The night is filled with the sounds of people chatting and children playing, wooden sandals clacking cheerfully against the pavement.

“It’s just that it’s so _humid_ ,” Oikawa says lamentingly, sighing dramatically as he fans himself with the cheap, sentai-themed fan he’d bought from one of the stalls. He leans back against a guard rail lightly, watching the festivities from a distance, head tilted just a fraction to where Ushijima stands next to him, wearing a matching sentai mask around the side of his head. “It feels terrible, ugh. Is there anything worse than being able to feel the moisture on your skin?”

“It isn’t yet the peak time of the season for humidity,” Ushijima says. “The weather is still bearable.”

Oikawa makes a point of grimacing visibly for a moment before he replies, “Your opinion on the matter doesn’t mean much. As far as I’m concerned, you’re pretty much an UMA. Or maybe an UMU?”

“What is an ooh-moo?” Ushijima asks.

“An unidentified mysterious Ushiwaka, of course,” Oikawa answers snappily.  “No, but seriously, how can you stand it?”

Ushijima shrugs. “At least a yukata breathes more than a school uniform does,” he replies. “But not – ”

“But not as much as a volleyball uniform does,” Oikawa cuts in. “Is that what you were about to say?”

“You’re very good at understanding other people,” Ushijima says.

Oikawa scoffs and then smirks. “You’re just easy to understand. You’ve got a volleyball in your cranium instead of a brain, so obviously everything always cycles back to that,” he replies. “Speaking of yukata, though, isn’t yours a little _too_ plain?”

Ushijima lifts an arm up, pulling slightly at the sleeve of his yukata. It has a simple style to it, colored dark blue with lighter accents, without much ornamentation to it. “This is what should be pictured when thinks about a man’s yukata,” Ushijima says, dead serious as usual. “Rather than mine being plain, yours is quite flashy.”

“A gorgeous young man like me can pull this off,” Oikawa declares, pointing his fan accusingly at Ushijima. His yukata is dark gray, with a pattern like ink-painted carp around the bottom of his clothes, below the obi. “And this isn’t _flashy_ , it’s not as if I’m one of those guys who goes for the obnoxious colors, or buys one of those yukatas that has weirdly low cuts to them. This is classy! Elegant!”

“It is flashy,” Ushijima says, with the tone of somebody saying something that’s as obviously true as the sky being blue or grass being green. “But it fits you.”

“From anybody else, I’d be questioning if I just got complimented or insulted, but seeing as it’s you, well. It’s exactly what it is,” Oikawa replies dryly. “Anyway, there’s only one solution for the humidity – we’ve gotta find a stall selling popsicles and then you’re going to buy one for me. It’s only fair, I did buy you that mask.”

Ushijima didn’t actually ask for the mask, nor is it likely that he even wanted the mask, but he just quirks his head to the side slightly, as if in light contemplation. “Alright, if we can find them, I’ll buy some,” he says, extending a hand to Oikawa.

Oikawa grabs Ushijima’s hand and pulls himself forward, lifting himself off of the guard rail – but even after he’s got his weight on his own two feet again, Ushijima doesn’t let go of his hand. “Oh, you’re smooth sometimes,” Oikawa comments, grinning despite himself. “Not bad, Ushiwaka. Not bad at all.”

So the scene might not quite reach picture-perfection, but as far as Oikawa’s concerned: close enough.


End file.
